


They're coming

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The descent of monsters from their prison through the eyes of those who only see evil.





	They're coming

“Mum, I’m scared.”  
“Don’t be my child, they’re just monsters. The same that are under your bed, that hide in your closet, that comes out at night.”  
“Then Mum tell me… why are they here now?”  
“Because you need to let the caged out every once in a while.”

Citizens ran for the bunkers, taking all that their pockets could fill. Elderly on their backs for they cannot walk. Children by their sides for they are lost without guidance. The wise and important at the front to sort and calm the unknown driven hysteria. The fearful, cowardly and clueless in the middle of the escapees. The brave stayed back to meet these unwanted visitors. The out-casted ones have returned once again, this time with a kick in their steps and a punch in their breaths. The prisoners have broken out and are never going back.

They came by the masses with their mystical lightshows and their thirsty, vengeful looks. Monsters, the crowds of them were, with their anthropomorphic personalities inside these physical suits of various animalistic bodily combinations. Objects of nightmarish foreshadowing, they sprang out of the forbidden mountain, faces filled with satisfaction like the cold blooded reptiles that eyes upon the sun through their slit shaped pupils. And yes, like snakes they seemed hungry. Hungry for reclamation of what once was. 

It was the betrayal of several being of their own kind that brought upon the opening vortex between the living and the living hell. The first went because of a hatred for the locking up of those mistaken beasts. Said they were creatures of kindness, frankly more than the human nature was capable of. So they went, only to return as a corpse, assumed to be ripped to shreds by the same demonic barbarians they stood up for. An ironic death for an idiotic soul, becoming a warning for anyone that decides to follow that path and ideology. Yet of course history will repeat and see more knock on those indestructible bars of their cell.

There was a predicament in the old myths and legends usually only told when night casts its charm upon a forest campfire setting that speaks of the unfortunate number, seven. At the leave of the seventh traitor, that is when the chains of the goat will be unpicked and to that, bedlam shall rise upon the Earth’s surface once again as the prehistoric times. Despite that risk burning ever so strong within the minds of the old, the young simply shrugged it off as another urban legend. But of course, it was no mythology but a simple reality that had been twisted and tweaked too many times over the centuries.

The immediate danger presented itself as a single pest at first. A small child that stood upon the summit, looking down on the city with an insensitive sign in their crimson tinted irises. But of course, without prey to pick it off as it came, the locusts started duplicating… until it grew into a swarm. An overspill that poured out of the volcanic mountainous backdrop. The undead, the subjections to perdition, the damned ones, they all flooded out. The plague has come.


End file.
